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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27341266">tomorrow is another day</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkedinserendipity/pseuds/inkedinserendipity'>inkedinserendipity</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Penumbra Podcast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Other, also feat some of funniest dialogue i've maybe ever written thank you miss rita penumbrapodcast, feat a nureyev that insists he's not mad post-man in glass (spoiler alert: he's mad), juno gets a little stabbed but he gets better, vespa does NOT care about juno shut UP</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:20:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,530</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27341266</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkedinserendipity/pseuds/inkedinserendipity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The rest of the evening he’d been unsettled. Juno the same; an argument with Rita, Nureyev thinks, now. They’d snapped. Nureyev doesn’t remember what about. It seems so insignificant now, especially in the face of what had come after. He wishes he could say he doesn’t remember his exact words, but he does; he may not comb through them often, but the archives of his memory are seamless. Juno had snarled and Nureyev had snapped and at the end the words had tumbled out, crystalline and biting, <em>Then why don’t you leave again, detective, seems that’s all you’re good for—leaving us behind!</em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Rita &amp; Juno Steel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>195</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>tomorrow is another day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The first of my TPP fics for this crazy project I call TPP Nano! The goal is to post one thing a day (some will make it to AO3, all will be on my Tumblr). Anyway, figured I'd start off with one of my favorites, hope y'all like it too! </p><p>In which Nureyev is not quite through with his resentment, the old Juno Steel had a habit of leaving people behind, and even just a year apart, the old Juno Steel is difficult to reconcile with the lady he knows now.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Juno pulls him to the side before they go. For a long moment, neither of them speak, a wordless weight hanging over their heads.</p><p>Nureyev doesn’t regret what he said yet. He’s too angry for that. Because there are still times, more often than he’d like to admit, that he wakes in his own bed in the <em>Carte Blanche</em>, for a long aching moment convinced that he is still alone. Juno hurt him. And it will take more than Juno’s pithy words to make up for that.</p><p>But Juno doesn’t use words this time. He’s not a lady of them. Instead, he squeezes Nureyev’s shoulder. Not smiling, not frowning, but steady, his one-eyed gaze even. Nureyev tenses, opening his mouth to say something that he will also regret, later, but before he can, Juno is gone.</p><p>Nureyev watches him go. His gait is as steady as it ever gets with the burns seared into his knee, and his shoulders are set, and he doesn’t look back.</p>
<hr/><p>Just yesterday morning, Juno had made two cups of coffee, one with Valencian cream, one without. He’d set the one with cream in front of Nureyev, and Nureyev had smiled a tired little smile, looking up from his comms to accept the offering, and it had taken a great deal of effort not to kiss the back of that scarred hand.</p><p>“What’re you up to?” Juno had asked, and Nureyev had tilted the screen toward him by way of answer. And Juno had sat beside him, hands wrapped around the mug, steam curling to tickle the underside of his chin, his sharp detective’s mind already piercing Nureyev’s notes. A flicker of admiration had travelled through Nureyev, for just a moment, before he had crushed it.</p>
<hr/><p>Later that day Nureyev had napped on the couch and woken just moments before his fists, scraped raw and bloody from beating on a smooth metal door, disintegrated with the rest of him, with the detective trapped inside that room, as the Egg shattered.</p><p>The rest of the evening he’d been unsettled. Juno the same; an argument with Rita, Nureyev thinks, now. They’d snapped. Nureyev doesn’t remember what about. It seems so insignificant now, especially in the face of what had come after. He wishes he could say he doesn’t remember his exact words, but he does; he may not comb through them often, but the archives of his memory are seamless. Juno had snarled and Nureyev had snapped and at the end the words had tumbled out, crystalline and biting, <em>Then why don’t you leave again, detective, seems that’s all you’re good for—leaving us behind!</em></p><p>Because there is an <em>us</em>, now. Himself and Rita and Buddy and Jet and Vespa. And it wasn’t fair, but it also wasn’t untrue, because the Juno Steel that Nureyev had met so long ago wanted so badly to leave them behind for good.</p><p>Juno’s face had closed, in a way that Nureyev cannot remember ever seeing before, and he’d turned, silent, and walked away.</p>
<hr/><p>The mission goes wrong, as they so often do.</p><p>Buddy snaps into her comms, voice a roar of flame. It takes everything within Nureyev’s restraint to maintain his easy open smile, his open-palmed outstretched hand as he mindlessly charms this man into handing over dangerous secrets, listening to Buddy’s barked orders for immediate extraction. Jet, on the other hand, reporting his progress with the Ruby 7 with the particular tenor of calm that means he is trying very, very hard not to let old wounds creep open again.</p><p>Because there is a way they could get Rita out, right now. Jet could do it. Or rather, the man he once was could do it. Jet would not.</p><p>Vespa, demanding a response from Rita that won’t come. Juno, silent over the comms. Then a mechanical notification: Juno’s comms have been deactivated.</p><p>Nureyev’s restraint snaps. He smiles and nods and waves an airy hand and steps from the ballroom, placing his wineglass delicately on a passing tray. He opens the massive double doors to the ballroom, laughing and waving to the host as he does, and the second they close he breaks into a dead sprint.</p><p>Memorizing this mansion’s floorplan was the work of perhaps twenty minutes. His focus this morning was razor-keen, because there was so much he did not want to think about.</p><p>The rooms are large, the hallways winding. Over and over Nureyev hears the mechanical notification tolling in his ears. He files it away. He calls Juno, and does not expect a response.</p><p>Juno picks up. He doesn’t say anything; in the background, there’s the sound of a commotion, and layered over it, Juno’s terse breathing.</p><p>“Diana?”</p><p>No response. The, the sound of a gun engaging. Juno huffs a shaky laugh and says, <em>“Guess that really is all I’m good for, huh?”</em></p><p>“Juno—!”</p><p>The line goes dead. Nureyev’s gait stutters and he stares at the comms in his hand. Then he tucks it away and runs faster than he perhaps ever has.</p><p>Then gunfire rings out, pounding against his ears. And then there is silence.</p><p>As he nears the server room of the mansion suddenly he hears Rita in double through his comms, hysteria sharp in her voice.</p><p>“Mista Jet you gotta get to the server room, Mista Steel’s—he—”</p><p><em>“What, darling?”</em> Buddy demands. <em>“What happened?”</em></p><p>Rita takes a long shaky breath. Nureyev nears the corner. “He got hit,” Rita whispers, “and it ain’t somethin’ I can fix, twice I think or maybe three—”</p><p>She breaks off. Nureyev rounds the corner and enters the hallway and his gaze falls on Juno’s trenchcoat, a crumpled heap on the floor. It takes a moment to find the lady’s face, because he’s curled on his side, one shaking hand flexing over his stomach. He does not look up at the sound of Nureyev’s footsteps. He doesn’t appear to hear them, his gaze fixed on Rita’s face.</p><p>He reaches out. Rita takes his hand, the other clapping over her mouth. “Rita,” he coughs. “You’re okay?”</p><p>Juno’s words are a force of will, and when Rita nods he relaxes, slumping into the floor. “Mista Steel,” she manages through her fingers, voice shaky, “you gotta stay awake, boss, Mista Jet’s on his way, you gotta—look at me—”</p><p>“’m awake, Rita.”</p><p>“And you’re gonna stay that way, boss. I ever—I ever told you about that stream I saw about Mista Jet and his old friend, the one who gave us the key? I ain’t even realized it was them at the time ‘cause the actor they got to play ‘em looks nothin’ like them, an absolute tragedy—” She breaks off at the sound of skidding, looks up. Juno blinks slowly. Too slow. Nureyev recognizes this. He knows what comes next. “Mista Ransom?”</p><p>“Juno,” Nureyev breathes, kneeling before the lady’s face. Juno looks up, breath hitching in his chest.</p><p>“Ransom,” Juno grins. Blood stains his teeth. “Hey.”</p><p>“Stay here,” Nureyev demands, rooting through his coat. His hands are shaking worse than Juno’s. <em>Damn</em> it, where is his gauze? “Stay awake, Juno Steel.”</p><p>“Not leaving you behind,” Juno grits. He’s gone still save for the fingers clenching weakly against his side. An awful cough tears through his words. Blood pools on the ground around his lips, and his gaze flicks to Nureyev’s. “Not again.”</p><p>That <em>hurts</em>. For some reason, those two words hurt most of all. Guilt? Grief? Nureyev cannot tell, and he shoves it all away. He doesn’t have time, fingers fumbling as he tears off his silly coat jacket and presses it to Juno’s side. Over the detective’s small agonized inhale he snaps “Stop <em>talking</em>, detective, for once. Save your breath. You’ll need it with all the blood you’re losing.”</p><p>“’m sorry,” Juno rasps. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t want—”</p><p>“Juno,” Nureyev interrupts sharply, heartbeat thudding in his ears, “this is not the time.”</p><p>Juno looks at him, gaze steady even as the rest of his body shuts down, and gives up with a small laugh. “Never seems to be.”  </p><p>“The time is tomorrow,” Nureyev snaps, pressing harder on Juno’s chest. Juno doesn’t seem to feel it. “The time is tomorrow, detective, and you <em>will</em> be here to see it.”</p><p>Something shifts in Juno’s expression. His eye flicks to Rita and back. Slowly, trembling, he reaches for Nureyev’s hand and squeezes it once.</p><p>“Yeah,” he breathes, in a voice that Nureyev has never heard from him before. “Yeah. I will.”</p><p>Then he goes slack.</p>
<hr/><p>The wall crumples inward. Jet steps out of the Ruby 7 and picks Juno up as though he weighs nothing, expression tightening around the edges. Nureyev collects his fallen coat jacket and uses it to wipe the blood from his hands and does not think about how limp he had seemed, how Juno’s trenchcoat had dangled between Jet’s arms, even that piece of him far too still.</p>
<hr/><p>The stars pass by. Nureyev looks out at them, Jet driving faster than he’s perhaps ever gone, and Nureyev files it away, files it away, files it all away.</p>
<hr/><p>“Rita,” Nureyev says, later, in the medbay, Vespa collapsed in her chair with her head on her desk, a hypo drooping from her fingers. He is calm. He is perfectly calm. “What happened?”</p><p>Rita picks up her head from the bedside. There is a circular mark on her forehead where the unforgiving aluminum pressed into her skin. “They found me out,” she says shakily. “I dunno how but I was just wanderin’ the halls where you said I should with Miss Vespa and they, they came outta nowhere and separated us and they had all these <em>blasters</em> and I <em>know</em> they ain’t the sort that’re usually set to stun <em>or</em> kill ‘cause they’re those old-fashioned ones from the twenty-second century back in that awful fascist renaissance, and I was tryin’ to talk ‘em out of it but they were real mad and then Mista Steel came outta nowhere and got most of ‘em but there was only one of him and a buncha them and those guns they had were <em>awful</em> and he—”</p><p>“That’s quite enough, thank you,” Nureyev says, sharper than he means to. He files it away. He knows the way Juno’s body crumples when he gets shot. He does not need to imagine it in this new, brutal context.</p><p>Rita leans back over the table and closes her eyes.</p>
<hr/><p>“Jovian tea,” says Jet’s voice, somewhere in the medbay. Nureyev resurfaces from his internal perusal of his <em>for future consideration</em>, grateful for the interruption, because now that he is sat before the lady’s bedside as he struggles for breath, pale-faced and still, he is forced to confront the fact that his filing cabinet full of Juno Steel is not very full at all.</p><p>“Piss off, Siquliak.”</p><p>“I will not,” Jet says. Across from Nureyev, Rita stirs and turns to watch just as Vespa slams her hands on the table and says “I said fuck <em>off</em>!”</p><p>“Then I will leave this here,” Jet says calmly, and sets the mug on Vespa’s desk. Vespa growls at it, then growls at him, and Nureyev notices he has two mugs left in his hands, both faintly steaming.</p><p>He proffers one to Rita, wordlessly, who takes it, wrapping her hands around the porcelain. Then he turns to Nureyev, and Nureyev is not even sure at the moment who he <em>is</em>, much less what that person would say—right now he feels far too much like Peter Nureyev and that is a dangerous man to be—but Jet only says, “Juno Steel is not the same detective you once knew,” and hands him the mug.</p><p>Nureyev takes it with numb fingers. “Beg pardon?”</p><p>“Drink,” Jet says. “And as you do, I would recommend you think on this: transience is the only permanent state of the self.”</p><p>Then he leaves.</p>
<hr/><p>Eventually Rita falls asleep. Upon noticing, Nureyev does his level best to pretend that he has not. She must be used to this, by now. Waiting for Juno Steel to come home. Waiting for him to stay.</p><p>The thought sits bitter on the back of his tongue. How useless it must seem to her. How futile it must be, attempting to corral a wayward detective whose only apparent priorities are to his city and his own depleted sense of self-worth, to the vague cause of <em>doing good</em>. How tired she must be. He can hardly fault her for sleeping.</p><p>Nureyev takes the first sip of tea long after it has gone cold. It is mediocre, described generously, and he wishes he had sugar.</p><p>He realizes, with a start, that Peter Nureyev is the sort of man who would take his tea with sugar.</p><p>Peter Nureyev sets the mug down on the bedside table, sets his elbows on the edge of the cot, and steeples his fingers over his temples.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s not as though Juno doesn’t know. He’d admitted it to Nureyev himself, just before throwing himself idiotically in the line of fire, as always. What was it he’d said? A confession?</p><p>Nureyev lies to himself that he does not remember every single word. <em>Guess that really is all I’m good for, huh?</em> In those words had been defeat and regret and bitterness.</p><p>And then, unbidden, from somewhere behind a door with three locks, he remembers <em>yeah</em>. Determination and strength and resolve. Like a promise, not a prayer. <em>Yeah, I will</em>.</p><p>He remembers Jet’s advice. He drinks Jet’s tea. He cracks open the filing cabinet of Juno Steel, and in the privacy of his own mind, studies it.</p><p>It is scattered with papers and binders and flickering memories like holograms. Of tombs and casinos and secrets. Of lighting-quick anger and persistent distrust and the clear weathers after a storm that had come in the form of exhausted, pained, rambling stories that Juno would never explain the next morning.</p><p>That lady is not the same as the one who lies before him. He has heard this Juno laugh.</p><p>Juno had a brother, Nureyev knows. Had a mother, too. Now he has Rita and the rest of this crew, and when Nureyev is honest with himself he seems happier than he had ever been. It hurts, that Juno had grown without him. He wishes, desperately, that he could have been there, that Juno had not left.</p><p>But beneath it all he is proud of this new lady, for what he has made himself. Nureyev…has to admire that. Building not masks but honesty, even in hidden places.</p><p>Nureyev takes a breath and pushes the scattered papers and binders and flickering memories to the back of their shelves. He brushes dust from the wood, and imagines what it might look like, the memories fresh and the papers neatly stacked at the front. He imagines it fuller than it is now, and something in him settles at the thought.</p><p>He closes the cabinet, and does not lock it as he goes.</p><p>Nureyev opens his eyes and stands. He collects their mugs, even Vespa’s, which she’d left on her desk, and brings them to the kitchen. Then he gathers a handful of blankets from their common rooms, and carries them back to the medbay, and drapes the thickest of his bounties over Rita’s shoulders as she rests.</p>
<hr/><p>Juno lets out a long, heartfelt groan and slumps back onto the bed. “God damn it,” he mutters. “God damn it, there’s two of you now.”</p><p>“Mista <em>Steel!”</em></p><p>Nureyev looks up just in time to watch Rita launch herself at Juno. “Oof,” Juno gasps, “not the ribs, Rita, not the—”</p><p>“Oh I’m sorry!” she backs off immediately, then throws her arms around his neck instead. “You scared me, boss! That was real rude of you!”</p><p>“Eh. Turned out okay, didn’t it?”</p><p>“<em>Boss</em>,” Rita growls, and Juno’s grin turns sheepish.</p><p>“What else was I supposed to do? Jet wasn’t gonna get there in time.”</p><p>“That don’t mean you’ve gotta come in guns <em>blazing</em>, Mista Steel!”</p><p>“And if I hadn’t then their guns were gonna be the ones blazing and between the two, Rita, I know which one I’d pick.”</p><p>“Except they <em>did</em> shoot their guns, Mista Steel, you just ain’t mad ‘cause they hit you instead!”</p><p>“It was like two pieces of metal, Rita. I’ve had worse.”</p><p>“It was <em>four</em>, and that don’t mean you’ve gotta take it! We’ve talked about this, boss!”</p><p>“At least it was better than the last bits of metal I had in me ‘cause those were actively trying to kill me.”</p><p>“<em>Mista Steel</em>.”</p><p>Juno gives up on the jokes with a sigh. He either hasn’t noticed Nureyev yet or won’t look at him, and Nureyev does not know which. “I’m sorry, Rita. I…you were split up from Vespa, Buddy and Jet were off-site, and Ransom was too far away. If there had been anything else, I would’ve done that.”</p><p>Rita stays angry for all of three seconds before crumpling. “I know, Mista Steel,” she says. “If it helps, I couldn’t think of anythin’ either.”</p><p>“Strangely, that <em>does</em> actually make me feel a little better.”</p><p>“That still don’t mean you can jump in whenever someone’s chasin’ me around with a gun.”</p><p>“Yes it does. <em>I’m</em> the only one around who gets to chase you around with a gun.”</p><p>“Mista Steel, that ain’t funny,” Rita says, but she’s smiling. “That was real terrifyin’ and you almost died then too.”</p><p>“Yeah, but so did you.”</p><p>“That don’t make it <em>better</em>, boss!”</p><p>Juno laughs, a genuine soft laugh that twists something in Nureyev’s chest. His laughter is rarer than his smiles, and Nureyev finds himself holding his breath again. He feels, very suddenly, like he should not be here.</p><p>“Yeah, well, you’ve saved my life enough times that we’ll chalk it up to even, how does that sound?”</p><p>“We ain’t countin’, Mista Steel,” Rita says, soft as Nureyev has ever heard her, before she pats Juno’s hand and stands. “All right! You gotta be <em>real</em> dehydrated, ‘cause in all the streams whenever the hero wakes up after gettin’ shot they always drink a whole bunch and <em>no</em> Mista Steel I ain’t gettin’ you whiskey instead so don’t you even ask! You’re gettin’ water and you’re gonna say please-and-thank-you for it.”</p><p>“Wasn’t gonna ask for whiskey,” Juno grumbles. “Also, I’m not a h—”</p><p>“<em>Good</em>, ‘cause you weren’t gettin’ none anyway,” Rita interrupts, satisfied. “Then I’ll take a thank-you when I get back with it and if you ain’t on your best manners I ain’t paintin’ your nails for the next two months.”</p><p>“Aww, but <em>Rita—</em>”</p><p>“I mean it, Mista Steel!” Rita threatens. “Now! No dyin’ while I’m gone, you hear?”</p><p>“Not planning on it,” Juno calls laughingly, shaking his head as the door cycles closed behind her.  </p><p>The mirth fades from his face in increments. Slowly, his gaze trawls from the door to the foot of his bed, then up to Nureyev, and by the time it reaches him, Juno looks serious again.</p><p>All at once he looks small, Nureyev’s detective does, wrapped in white bandages and propped up on white pillows; beautiful and bursting and alive against a sterile background that does not fit him at all.</p><p>The silence in the medbay suddenly feels very, very loud.</p><p>Then Juno sighs and says, “Hey, Ransom.”</p><p>“Juno,” Nureyev says, before he can think about it. His body shifts forward, but he makes himself sit back, unsure what he’d even meant to do. “You came back.”</p><p>Juno snorts. Not the fond laugh of earlier, but the caustic, biting snort that Nureyev has heard so many times before. He wants to make Juno laugh like Rita does. “Yeah. Hate to disappoint.”</p><p>That stings. “Juno….”</p><p>“Sorry. Low blow,” Juno mutters, looking exhausted. “Listen, I’m okay. If there’d been anything else to do I would’ve let that happen. Didn’t exactly mean to get shot.” Juno trails off, then adds, “Thanks for patching me up.”</p><p>“Of course,” Nureyev murmurs. “Hardly the first time.”</p><p>Juno’s face sets. “Yeah. Bad habit. Listen, I’m fine, so you can tell Buddy or whatever that I’m awake.” Juno tries to move his shoulder and immediately collapses back, wincing, swearing under his breath. Nureyev’s heart is in his throat. Juno snorts again. “Stupid,” he mutters to himself, “idiot move, Steel.”</p><p>“Are you all right?”</p><p>The words are out of his mouth before he can think them through, turn them over for implications and things that he would rather leave unsaid. Juno blinks at him, caught off-guard, then shrugs.</p><p>“Yeah. I mean, I will be. Wasn’t kidding when I said I’d had worse.”</p><p>“If I wanted to know about that, detective, I would have asked our dear doctor,” Nureyev says. “I…was cruel, Juno. And I was wrong. And I…” Nureyev trails off. He’s no good at this. At apologizing. Normally, he does not stay long enough to regret. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Juno stares at him, mouth hanging slightly open. He closes it and shakes his head. “It’s fine. I mean, you were right. That used to be what I was trying to do basically all the time.”</p><p>“But not anymore.”</p><p>Juno’s hands still where they’re fluttering over the blankets, then fold deliberately against his chest. “Yeah. Not anymore. And for what it’s worth, Ransom, I—” he cuts himself off. “I—”</p><p>“There are no microphones or cameras in here, Juno. I’ve checked.”</p><p>“What?” Juno stares at him. “Really?”</p><p>“Well,” Nureyev amends. “None whose footage Rita can’t erase.”</p><p>Juno snorts at that, the sound lingering closer to the laughter Nureyev so desperately wants to hear again, and something loosens in Nureyev’s chest. “Okay then, Nureyev. Listen, I know I’ve said this before, but I am sorry for leaving. I—I explained it after the ball, but, uh…I’m trying. To not do that, or—or anything like it again.”</p><p>Juno falls quiet. Again, it is Nureyev’s turn to speak, and again, he does not quite know what to say.</p><p>Then Juno’s face falls, and he sighs again. “Right. Yeah. Listen, my head hurts, so I think I’m just gonna—”</p><p>“Wait,” Nureyev blurts, and for once decides not to think through his words. Juno makes honesty look so <em>easy</em>. “I know. I…hadn’t realized. But I—know now, I think. And I shouldn’t have said that to you, Juno. You’re not the same lady I knew a year ago, and I was so angry with him, and—still am, I suppose, but you’re not….”</p><p>“You’re allowed to be angry, Nureyev,” Juno says quietly. “I may have changed, but I still—I don’t just get to brush that aside. And I’ve apologized, but I know that doesn’t…it’s not that easy.”</p><p>Nureyev rasps out a laugh, surprised to find his throat tight. His vision blurs. “No, I suppose it’s not,” he says. “But that was cruel, and it wasn’t true, and Juno, you are good for so much more than that.”</p><p>Juno takes a shaky breath, looking wrong-footed in a way that hurts Nureyev to see. Like those words are still a surprise. Juno says, “Okay. Yeah, um, thanks—”</p><p>“I mean it, Juno,” Nureyev says, shifting closer to Juno. “When I look at you, I see the detective I used to know, and you’re still him, parts of you I mean. Your cleverness hasn’t gone anywhere, Juno. Do you remember that the first time you asked, I told you I trusted you for your instincts? That hasn’t changed, either. But now I see you, and you’re…” Nureyev trails off, a helpless laugh bubbling in his throat, and he gestures to all of Juno, as if that motion could encompass everything that he is. “Kind-hearted, still. Incredibly caring. Brave. And I am glad that I can be here, Juno, beside you now.”</p><p>Juno looks a little like Nureyev had punched him in the stomach. “Thanks, Nureyev,” he croaks, and huffs a quiet laugh as tears roll down his cheeks, scrubbing his wrist viciously beneath his eyes. “Wow, so this looks—”</p><p>Nureyev hugs him. He stands and buries his face in Juno’s hair, winding his arms around Juno’s shoulders. And for a long moment, Juno doesn’t move. Then he presses his face into Nureyev’s shoulder, his whole body tensing as he pulls Nureyev closer. Tomorrow that will likely bruise, but Nureyev doesn’t move. He holds Juno close as the detective lets himself fall apart.</p><p>His mind takes this opportunity to point out that, had their aim been a little better, that would’ve been the last thing he would’ve said to Juno. Those biting, caustic words.</p><p>He pushes that thought away, files it away for later examination, and in this moment, turns his attention to Juno, whose shoulders still shake.</p><p>Eventually Juno picks up his head, snorts ruefully at whatever he sees. “Sorry for, uh, irrigating your shoulder,” he says hoarsely, releasing Nureyev’s forearms. “It, uh…I think I needed to hear that. Thanks, Nureyev.”</p><p>“You don’t have to thank me,” Nureyev says quietly, finding Juno’s hand and tangling their fingers together as he sits. “Or apologize. I’m just glad you’re all right.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Juno says, looking at their intertwined hands. He turns to Nureyev and smiles, exhausted and genuine and beautiful. “Yeah. I am too.”</p><p>And Nureyev believes him. </p><p>“Well,” Nureyev says, folding away the urge to curl up beside Juno on the sickbay’s bed and kiss the long-pressed wrinkles of worry, the tear-tracks, from his detective’s face. “I suppose you’ll need your rest. Especially before Miss Rita returns.” </p><p>“Yeah, probably,” Juno says, freeing one of his hands to pass a palm beneath his eyes. </p><p>“Best leave you to it, then.” </p><p>“Vespa would probably kill you if you stayed,” Juno agrees, but there’s reluctance in the curve of his shoulders, the tightness of his grip around Nureyev’s hand. Nureyev waits, breath caught in his throat, and doesn’t realize how tense he’s become until Juno finishes, “But if you’re, uh, willing to take that risk, I...I’d want you to stay.” </p><p>Nureyev relaxes just as Juno tenses. He smiles, gently, just to watch the anxiety fade from Juno’s eye, and lowers himself carefully beside him. He’s careful to avoid brushing against his detective’s side, bracketing himself against the swathes of skin unfettered by bandages, their hands still linked, resting atop Juno’s chest. “It this all right, love?” </p><p>“More than all right,” Juno says, breathless. Then, as he visibly process the full of Nureyev’s sentence: “Nureyev....”</p><p>“Tomorrow,” Nureyev murmurs, dropping his head atop Juno’s shoulder. He turns, just slightly, to press a kiss to the curve of his beloved detective’s neck. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow.” </p><p>They have weathered worse than this, the two of them: rigged games, impossible heists, a painful reunion. And for the first time, Nureyev lets himself believe that this could last. For the first time, he lets himself put a name to the gentle, warm, flickering sensation that blooms in his chest whenever he looks at Juno.</p><p>But all that can wait one night. Because Nureyev is sure, now, that there will be a tomorrow. </p><p>“Okay, Nureyev,” Juno whispers, words brushing along the top of his head as Juno brushes his lips against Nureyev’s crown. Then, quieter still, not quite a secret but a confession: “I love you too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"diana" is the roman name for artemis, goddess of the hunt. yes she was my favorite goddess as a kid. can you tell?</p><p>if you liked this, drop your favorite line in the comments! also, catch me on tumblr at <a href="http://inkedinserendipity.tumblr.com">inkedinserendipity</a> for more of this nonsense</p></blockquote></div></div>
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